


Zombie AU That Isn't Really A Zombie AU

by PostApocolypticAlien



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Gen, Zombie AU, random moments that im just vomiting out right now, whilst i try to establish what this is im writing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-23
Updated: 2020-06-25
Packaged: 2021-03-04 01:16:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,848
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24885202
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PostApocolypticAlien/pseuds/PostApocolypticAlien
Summary: You ever wanted to go zombie hunting with your mom?
Relationships: Fox Mulder/Dana Scully
Comments: 4
Kudos: 14





	1. PART I

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know what this is. Just as the tags say, it's just a load of random moments. If you choose to read this you may get confused. There's no linear pattern, don't let your brain try to make one, just read one part at a time and take them all separately. I think I'm gonna go back and organise these into a proper functioning fic once I'm done vomiting.

The car comes to a stop just outside the city. A broken, overgrown road lies just in front of her, a skyline ahead of her.

Emily grabs her bag from beneath the seat and climbs out of the car, shutting the door behind her, her mother following her lead.

“This is definitely safe?” Emily asks, placing her backpack on her shoulders.

She looks towards the city. From here it all seemed quiet but five years of this shit and Emily knew better. It could be harbouring all sorts of things- infected, psychos, warped militia groups. She touches the gun snuck in the back of her jeans, her pocketknife tucked into her front pocket. A need to know they were still with her. She liked having them, felt safer having them, less of a hinderance.

“It’s safe from the military,” her mother answers, beginning to make her way along the highway. “They say this zone was one of the first to fail.”

That comes as no surprise. There was a quarantine zone in every city once, but one by one they we’re either overrun or abandoned. It had been five years but Emily still remembered the one in Annapolis; too many people to control and not enough soldiers to control them. After everything Emily had witnessed in them, the food shortages were the worse. There seemed days where the ration stations were closed due to lack of food. It was those days Emily felt the most of an inconvenience, her diabetes wasn’t going to go away just because a pandemic had hit.

“You okay, Em?” her mom asks.

“I’m good.”

“Good. Make sure you keep an eye out. You don’t know what is hiding in the bushes.”

Emily nods and looks off towards the trees and bushes that surround her.

It hadn’t mattered that her parents had went to the FEMA officers telling them of Emily’s disease, it made her no different to every other civilian.

Just another reason why they felt.

“So what exactly is the plan here?” Emily asks, climbing over the railing. A few more feet and they would be in Washington DC, for better or for worse.

“We’ll find a place to sleep tonight,” her mom says. “It’ll be getting dark soon. The sooner we find somewhere, the safer we’ll be.”

Emily looks up at the sky. A dark cloud passes. Looks like it’s going to rain to soon. Infected don’t like rain, that will make finding somewhere to sleep that much harder.

She sighs, continuing to survey the area for whatever when something a bit away from her catches her eye.

A glance towards her mother, Emily runs over to it. Upon closer inspection she realises it’s a dog collar, blue, baring the name Alfie. She wonders if Alfie was still alive, prowling the area, the city’s own literal watchdog.

Emily always wanted a dog, how helpful it would be now they were on the run, but her mom wouldn’t hear it. Just another mouth to feed, she told her.

“Try to keep up, Em!” her mom shouts.

A last look towards the collar, she unzips her bag and drops it inside where it joins all the other tidbits she’s collected over five years, remnants of a life she was too young to remember.


	2. Part II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dana meets Fox.

The shotgun is cocked and ready. All she needs to do is pull the trigger and he is dead, whatever body part she chooses to point at blasted off. It could be quick or it could be slow, it’s all up to her.

“Put your hands up and face the wall.”

The shadowed figure does as he’s told. He’s human at least. Still, she doesn’t trust him, keeping the gun trained on him as he turns.

“Fine,” he says his back now to her. “But don’t shoot me. I got shot once and I didn’t enjoy it.”

There’s humour in there but she doesn’t find it funny. She moves towards him, the gun still pointed at him.

“Is it just you?” she asks him.

The man scoffs. “Be stupid running around here alone, don’t you think?”

There’s more. Another? Or two, three, four- a whole hoard? She isn’t in the mood for games.

“Just answer the damn question!”

“I just hope you know how to use that shotgun.”

She doesn’t have time to ponder what that means. A shout from the next room has her attention diverted.

“You psychotic bitch!”

It’s enough for the man to turn around, grab the end of her shotgun, yanking it towards him and booting her in the chest.

Dana lands with a thud on the wood floor, coughing, the wind knocked out of her.

It’s her turn to stare down the barrel of a gun.

There are still shouts from the other room, the sound of something hard hitting bone. She hopes to god it’s not Emily being hit.

She keeps eye contact with the man. Now facing her and standing in the light, she can see his face. Hidden under a flap of hair, there’s no menace in his eyes just awareness. He’s no older than she is.

Dana looks to the gun then back to the man.

“You wouldn’t shoot me with my own gun, would you?” she asks.

He’s about to answer when a brown-haired girl Dana’s never seen before barrels out of the adjoining room. Her clothes are bloody and she’s clutching her side.

Behind her is Emily wielding a piece of wood she must of found somewhere. It’s held high, ready to strike at any moment.

The man is distracted this time and Dana uses it to her opportunity, just as he had done. She kicks the shotgun aside, knocking it out of his hands, and jumps up towards him. Her hands are yanking him down by his hair, a knife poised at his throat.

“I’m gonna kill you!” Emily cries her eyes blazing with fury.

“Fucking hell, okay!” the girl’s other hand is outstretched towards Emily, signalling her to stop. She hunches over, clutching the old torn-up couch, trying to catch her breath. “Just give me a minute,” she huffs out.

Meanwhile Dana stays focused on her task.

“Oh, you’re good,” the man says wearing a stupid smile one should not be wearing in this situation.

“Give me one reason I shouldn’t slit your throat,” Dana says.

The man grins. “I’m not going to kill you. Is that a good enough reason?”

Dana’s unsure whether to trust him or not but he’s there, smiling like an idiot and Dana hasn’t met many smilers.

“Like hell!” the other girl shouts. “A fucking _child_ just tried to kill me.”

“Shut up, Sam!” the man shouts. “Sam” huffs then winces in pain.

The man looks back at Dana. “I’ll give you some food if you let me go.”

Dana looks towards Emily who limply holds her wooden stick by her side. They both look at the girl who can barely breathe let alone fight, and the man Dana’s still holding at knife-point who’s still smiling at her.

“Alright, Smiley,” she says, releasing him. She doesn’t put her gun away, however. “What have you got to eat?”

The man tosses his backpack off his shoulders and onto the floor.

“Take your pick,” he says.


	3. Part III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mulder doesn't like cleaning out his cuts.

His heart slowing down, he feels the sting in his arm. Mulder pulls up his blood-soaked sleeve and views the damage: two long, deep gashes running down a good portion of his forearm.

_Bastards_ , he thinks. They still bang on the door, trying to get in.

“That should hold them off,” Samantha says, pushing a vending machine in front of the door. Emily pushes a box in the way as well, just to be sure.

“They get you?” Scully asks.

“One of them just clawed at my arm. I’m fine.”

“Good, I don’t want to have to shoot you in the face.”

Mulder laughs. They’ve found themselves in some kind of hall. A small platform at the front, sofas, chairs, tables dotted around the place. He picks one of the chair up and sits down.

The thudding has stopped. Why were there so many around here?

“So what do we do now?” Sam asks.

“We can stay here until we find away out,” Scully answers. She looks towards Mulder to see if he agrees.

_That’s fine with me_ , he thinks nodding then looks back at his arm.

It’s ugly and bloody, will probably leave scars but he knows right now it just looks worse than it actually is.

“Hey, Em,” Samantha calls. She’s poking her head outside one of the side rooms. “You wanna play pool?”

“Sure,” says Emily, placing her backpack on the floor and following Sam into the room.

Mulder roots in his own bag, tossing aside food, an extra gun, other junk, searching for a bandage.

“Let’s see it then.” Scully reaches for his arm but he moves it away from her. She looks surprised.

“It’s fine. It’s just a scratch, I’ve had worse.” He pulls the bandage out but Scully is there, grabbing his bad arm and taking the roll out of his other hand.

“Yeah, and I’ve seen the way you bandage,” she says, inspecting his arm. She has a concerned look on her face.

“It’s not as bad as it looks.”

“I know, but it still needs cleaning.”

Mulder groans in protest. Cleaning stings…a lot.

“Can’t you just put the bandage on it instead?” he whines.

“No,” Scully answers, opening her own bag. “It will get infected.”

Mulder pouts, his arm still held tightly in hers. “But not _that_ infected.”

“No, but you can still die from it.” She produces the bottle of alcohol, pours it onto the rag.

Mulder shuts his eyes. The rag makes contact with the wound, burning his entire arm. He fucking hates this part.

“You know you shouldn’t put alcohol on cuts,” he says, wincing through the pain.

“I’m well aware,” Scully replies, wrapping his arm up in the bandage. His arm still hurts and Mulder makes it known, wincing and puffing every moment he can. Scully smiles gleefully, at least he’s managed to make somebody happy today.

“You’re such a baby,” she taunts, cutting the roll away. “Emily’s been through this plenty of times and doesn’t complain.”

“Of course she doesn’t,” Mulder says, removing his hand from her before she does more damage. “She’s thirteen and thinks she’s a hard-ass.”

The sound of a ball smacking against another ball interrupts their conversation.

“Oh, you’re good,” they hear Samantha say.

“The quarantine zone had a games room,” says Emily. “They let us play in there…sometimes.”

“A pool table,” Mulder says, smiling. “I’m beginning to wonder why you left that zone at all.”

He thinks Scully mutters something but she’s too quiet for him to hear.

“Come on,” he says standing. “We should probably keep moving. There’s got to be another way out of here.”

He calls in Emily and Sam, who both groan at their game being interrupted, and with a promise of finding them another pool table, they begin looking for a way out.


End file.
